


When Hermione Met Draco

by stllrmno



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Non-Canon Pairing, Post Hogwarts AU, Romance, draco/hermione - Freeform, dramione - Freeform, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-25 13:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12533044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stllrmno/pseuds/stllrmno
Summary: A very Muggle accident leads to an unusually long friendship between Hermione and Draco. But is that all that it is? A series of not-so-random encounters. HG/DM. EWE. Post-War. Non-Canon pairing. AU. Loosely based on the film, “When Harry Met Sally”.





	1. When Draco falls from Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hello, lovelies! This is my first time to post a story here in Ao3, and I'm so excited to share my stories. This story is the one that I've been working on for about a few months now. It's only twelve chapters, and I have two more to go. This will also be posted on FFnet under the same username. This story's updates will be once a week. Hope you enjoy reading this one! Thank you so much, guys! - Love, Ste.
> 
> Dedication: Lightofevolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashesToAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. Thank you so much for everything! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

 

#### One

When Draco falls from Heaven

.o.O.o.

_“Got caught running up a tab_  
Couldn't drive home so I had to share a cab  
Introduced herself by her last name

_…_

_But the alcohol made its way down  
She was the last thing that I saw last night before I hit the ground”_

_(Right Girl, The Maine)_

 

.o.O.o.

 

October 2001 

Of all nights, it has to be tonight.

This definitely isn’t how I planned my evening.

I want to think, it’s nothing but a joke. A sick, unpalatable prank that ends with someone bursting out of nowhere to tell me that I’ve been played. But soon, I realise that I have been waiting for nothing.

A million other things were more likely to happen than this incident. But of the million options, fate chose this cruel – and very unusual – event to ruin my evening. I turn back to the cabbie standing behind me, terror evident in his eyes.

“He… h-he appeared out of nowhere,” he stammers, pulling his hat off and crushing it in his hands, “Oh God, I – I killed him, didn’t I?”

I look back at the unconscious man lying on the snow-covered concrete. His black trench coat now covered in sleet. He lies face down with his arms splayed above his head. But it isn’t the fear that we’ve killed a man which has me twisted. It is the fact that I know him – though not very well – and of all nights, I did _not_ want to deal with… this.

 _Merlin help me_. I sigh, ambling around the bumper of the cab to nudge the unconscious figure with the tip of my shoe. He makes no move. I prod his leg more insistently and finally, a soft groan escapes from the man.

The cabbie lets out an uneasy chuckle, but I remain stiff and unaffected. I hold my breath, deciding to crouch down and flip the unconscious man onto his back.

Shite.

His face comes clear in view with a few strands of stray hair cast upon his closed eyes. I gently push back the stray hair covering his eyelid and examines his face for any cuts or bruises - nothing. As I lean back, I inhale sharply and catch a whiff of... _ugh, gross_. He smells as though he took a bath in a tub of bile and whiskey. I wave off the cloud of odour before I proceed to inspect his body for injuries.

I slowly pull my wand out and shielded it away from the cabbie’s sight before muttering a quick spell, “ _Rennervate_ \- “

Without a second longer, the unconscious man responds with a surprised gasp and a choking sound - wide and pale eyes searching, dilated and disoriented, shock draining the remaining colour of his face. I hear the cabbie shifting behind me, trying to catch a glimpse of what is happening -

“Where - am…” He coughs, failing to speak clearly.

“Ssssh,” I hush him down, cautiously glancing back to the Muggle - confusion and suspicion masking his chubby face - before I turn back to the man on the ground and whisper, “You’re all right, don’t worry - “

Before I can finish, his eyes begin to roll to the back of his head and shakily closes - finally dozing back to sleep. I let out a huge breath, internally reprimanding myself for being a decent human being.

Afterwards,  I glance back at the cabbie and say, “He’s just drunk. Come on, let’s get him inside the cab.” The old man nods and hurries to help me drag the man to an upright position. We carry him to the cab and settle him inside the backseat before I squeeze myself into the crowded vehicle and the cabbie rushes to his seat.

Slowly, the cab hums to life before it speeds back onto the street. We drive in silence - until I hear a loud and incredibly gravelling snore coming from the dark lump of a man next to me. I do my best to ignore the noise, focusing on the bursts of light provided by the passing street lamps.

“I think we should take him to the hospital, ma’am. There’s one, only twenty minutes away from here.” The cabbie assures, still driving. He shifts his gaze between the rearview mirror to look at me.

The man right next to me shifts his position, interrupting my train of thought. I didn’t plan this, no, and for someone as organized as I am, this mess is completely unwelcome. My time is valuable, and wasting it on someone that I can’t be bothered with is utterly annoying.

 _What am going to do? This is insane_. A shiver runs down my spine. I shake my head. “No, don’t bother. He’s my idiot friend, I can take him home.” I almost gag at what came out of my mouth. I force the bile back down my throat and roll my eyes, thinking how this happened.

The cabbie looks at me uncertainly. His eyes flit between me and the road ahead while we take our next turn. I slouch against the cushion and wait.

“Are you sure, ma’am? He could be really hurt.“ The cab comes to a standstill at the next intersection, the red glow of the stoplight illuminating the interior of the cab. I take a conscious look at the sleeping man next to me.

 _He is_ , I think. _But I can’t just give him to the Muggles._ _God, what would my friends say? What would_ Ron _say? Should I even tell them? Maybe not… yet_. _And no, of course, I’m not sure. I’m mad –_ this _is mad._

I feel the urge to yell as loud as I possibly can; instead, I bite my tongue to keep from making a noise.

If my friends found out what had happened, who knows where they’d send me. Maybe to St Mungo’s for a psychiatric evaluation.

“I can definitely handle him,” I assure the cabbie, tasting the uncertainty on my tongue. I swallow the lump sitting in my throat, checking back in on sleeping figure to my right.

After an uneasy silence, the cabbie mutters, “Alright. If you say so, miss.” Then, the car jerks into drive.

 

.o.O.o.

 

Soft beams of light push through the open balcony doors while the crisp October breeze rolls in, just hard enough to flutter the sheer white drapes in the air.

I’m sitting at my worn kitchen table, scanning through the headlines of the Daily Prophet and stirring a warm cuppa to my side.

He – the man I’d dragged in from the street last night – sleeps soundly on the sofa, completely unaffected by both the sunlight scattered across the room and the sound billowing in from the street. A splash of silvery blond hair drapes over his eyes. I’ve never seen like this before, so defenceless… messy, even. His expensive robes were dishevelled, and one of his dragon-hide shoes was thrown across the living room floor.

He looks… _human_.

I stifle a small yawn with the back of my hand, still exhausted from the night before. After the cabbie and I had settled him on the sofa, I immediately collapsed into bed without even changing my clothes, only to be transported into this half-asleep hellscape. I tossed and turned restlessly until I felt the heat of the sun sear through my skin, announcing the arrival of a new morning.

I live in an impressively small – no, _affordable_ – flat in Muggle London. Not that I don’t have money to rent a larger flat, possibly even a house, but rather because I would prefer to spend time on my career rather than mopping the floor or wiping the window glass. So instead, I’ve claimed a flat near Charing Cross rd – one bedroom, a kitchenette, a living room with enough space for a petite L-shaped couch and two shelves, a bathroom, and a balcony the size of a large plant box overlooking a good view of the city. I’ve never needed many things, only the necessities: a place to eat, sleep, sit, work, and a few shelves worth of books for both leisure and research – another reason that this flat is the perfect size for me.

I live alone. Sometimes, Ron stays with me when he gets a break from his Quidditch training. His _official_ address is still the Burrow, but he spends as much time as he can manage here with me. Besides the fact that we both enjoy spending time together, we haven’t discussed this part of our relationship.

I exhale and take a bite from one of the brittle biscuits sitting on the other end of the table. _Merlin_ , if only Ron knew who is sleeping right now on the sofa…  he’d certainly flip.

A soft groan distracts me from my worrying. My eyes snap over to the man on the sofa, noting that he’d finally woken up, and his arms trying to block the warm light beaming toward him. He groans louder, his arms stretched above his head and lazily pulling himself into an upright position. My face hardens into a casually irritated mask, straightening my back up to hide my exhaustion, but nothing about this situation is casual; especially the erratic heartbeat in my chest telling me that this is a very stupid idea.

“Where _the hell_ am I? What happened to – “

“You’re in my flat, Malfoy,” I interrupt, trying - though, unsuccessfully - to hide my nerves by using a disinterested tone. 

His head swivels around to my direction, eyes narrowing and then widening. He slumps back against the sofa, rubbing his eyes to remove any sleep dust.

“ _Granger_?” He grumbles, hissing in pain when he flexes his shoulders. “What the fuck happened? Why do I feel so fucking sore? Did I get trampled on by a pack of centaurs?” His eyes raise to look at me again, puzzled but I only avert my eyes.

“Honestly, that would’ve been a lot easier to explain. But no, you were hit by a moving cab. _My_ taxi cab,” I inform him, taking slow, deep breaths in attempts to calm myself. I turn my attention back to the Daily Prophet, trying to ignore the gaze burning into the side of my face.

I brace myself for some sort of scathing remark, but to my surprise, he says nothing. All I hear from him is a resigned sigh. I sneak a careful glance at him and notice the crease between his thick pale eyebrows. “Do you want anything to eat or drink? Biscuits? Tea? Coffee – “

“Whiskey,” he interrupted, “I want whiskey. Do you have it?”

I respond with a glare, but he only watches me expectantly. _Is he serious?_ I scoff and shake my head, “No. I don’t have it. I only have tea, coffee, and tap water – so you’ll have to settle for one of those.”

He drops his head back against the sofa, and as silence surrounds the flat again, I decide to pour him a cuppa and walk over to hand it to him. He looks up at me, his expression dripping with scepticism.

“What?” No answer. “Oh for God’s sake,” I roll my eyes and take a sip from the cup, “See – no poison? If I wanted you dead, trust me, you’d already be _rotting_ in the ground. I do know how to get rid of a dead body.”

When he finally accepts the cup, I return to my kitchen table and sit back comfortably on the dining chair. I twirl a strand of curly hair that has escaped from my messy, tangled bun, and watch Malfoy unfold from a distance. I feel the urge to run to my bedroom – but the flat is small, there is no point in hiding anyway. _Why am I playing hostess? We aren’t friends and yet here I am, offering him tea like we’re some old colleagues who hadn’t seen each other in a very long time. This is_ –

“ – sweet…” He mutters and places the cup on the coffee table. I look up in surprise; he recognises the confusion in my eyes and clarifies, “The tea – it’s very sweet.” _Oh, right_.

I open my mouth to say something but my words fail me yet again; instead, I look away to hide my heat rising up on my cheeks. After a few moments, he breaks the silence again. “Are we the only ones here?”

I clear my throat. “I live alone, yes - if that’s what you’re asking. Though sometimes, Ron stays over whenever he gets a break from training. He plays for the Chudley Cannons.”

Malfoy only hums in response. I watch him look outside the balcony; the sunlight brightening his face. I realise how pale he looks. I passively examine his face: the sharpness of his jaw and the stubble around it, his high cheekbones, the flutter of his eyelashes, the quiver in his pink lips. I drag myself out of my thoughts - _why the hell am I even looking at him_ \- and switch gears, deciding to ask him about last night.

“Where were you last night, by the way? I mean, you suddenly fell right into the street.“

“I, um… I think I was coming from Blaise’s. He had a little party, and to be honest, I can’t remember anything after I’ve had so many shots except that I disapparated from his flat – “ Malfoy explains, shrugging, “ – and now, I guess here we are.”

“You disapparated – _drunk_?” I echo, a soft laughter bubbling in my chest.

“I realise now how foolish it was – “

“You think?” I huff. “I’m not a big drinker, but honestly, I can’t even trust myself to apparate after one glass of wine. Seriously, what if you splinched yourself? What if it hadn’t been me who found you? What if someone else saw you and  – “

“And here I thought you didn’t care about me,” Malfoy says smugly. An arrogant smirk tweaks the corners of his lips. My mouth hangs open, struggling to formulate the right words.

“I – I do _not_!” I bark, inwardly cursing myself for being so obvious.

He maintains his smirk, clearly amused - which made me clench my teeth in irritation. He shakes his head. I scowl and turn back to the newspaper laid out on the table, trying to ignore the growing tension inside of me before miserably failing when Malfoy speaks again.

“Why did you bring me here?”

 _Oh_ _sweet Godric_ –

I wish I knew. I’ve spent hours thinking about it, and yet I’ve failed to come up with an answer. I still think that this is a huge mistake, a lapse of my better judgment – but for some reason, here we both are, sitting comfortably in the quiet.

Curling my lip, I catch the expectant look on his face, still waiting for the answer that I’m not sure I can give.

Sighing, I only shrug.

Neither of us speaks for what seems like minutes, the quiet lingering longer and longer until all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. Eventually, Malfoy clears his throat and stands, “Well, I think I’ve outstayed my welcome. I, um… I think I should probably go.”

I frown, but I stand anyway and point him the front door. He moves, heeding my direction, and I smell him as he nears me. The smell of alcohol from his clothes has waned already - _wait, why am I even smelling him?_

I shake my head.

A lump stalls in my throat. I remain stiff from where I stand, a hand cautiously running over my arm. I can see his stormy grey eyes, dilated and downcast and somewhat ashamed before I hear him, “Granger – um, I… t-thank you for last night.”

I frown, pressing my lips together.

“Sure. Anytime,” I stutter – _what is happening?_ I shake my head, letting out a nervous laugh.

He doesn’t move, and our eyes lock in a long gaze that seems to be exploring the depth underneath each colour. As time stretches, I break away and keep my eyes on the floor, “So… I’ll see you around?”

“Right,” Malfoy quickly replies, suddenly aware of his surroundings. He resumes his short walk to the door. A click echoes and he slips out of the flat without saying another word.

I release a sigh and glance across the empty flat. I notice the forgotten tea on the nightstand, the unfolded blanket which I draped over him last night, and the sheer loneliness that wraps around me, accompanied by an ice-cold realisation -

I’m alone again.


	2. When Draco hides from a banshee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very Muggle accident leads to an unusually long friendship between Hermione and Draco. But is that all that it is? A series of not-so-random encounters. HG/DM. EWE. Post-War. Non-Canon pairing. AU. Loosely based on the film, "When Harry Met Sally".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, lovelies! I'm so glad you've decided to check this story out... again! Thank you! 
> 
> Now, before we proceed, I would like to announce that I am looking for extremely eager alpha-readers to check on a few other stories that I'm currently plotting. Ships are either: Draco/Hermione or Sirius/Hermione. A major benefit is that you will get a firsthand glimpse of my stories before I even post it. If interested, send me a message through here or Tumblr (whichever is more convenient; same username as here) and we'll discuss the necessary details. Thank you so much!
> 
> And here is Chapter 2. I hope you like it. - Love, Ste
> 
> Dedication: LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. Thank you so much for everything! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Two**

"When Draco hides from a banshee"

.o.O.o.

 _"Everybody lies, lies, lies  
It's the only truth sometimes  
Doesn't matter if it's out there somewhere waiting for the world to find  
Or buried deep inside  
_ _Everybody lies"_

_(Everybody lies, Jason Walker)_

.o.O.o.

February 2002

I sigh in frustration.

Gripping the desk, I exhale in exhaustion – watching the last of the daylight slip from the windowsill as the sun sets for today. I straighten up and wince at the loud crack on my hip bone after crouching down for so long.

This has been a very long and tiring day. However, the hours threaten to stretch further by the look of the paperwork I've been assigned to finish tonight.

The door opens, and I look up to see Melinda – my secretary – peeking her head in with a bright smile. I try to flash one, still scanning the documents scattered across my desk.

I ask, "Yes? Is there a problem?"

"No, Miss," Melinda replies, "Just want to remind you that you have a breakfast meeting tomorrow with Mr Dunhill of the – " she glances at her folded parchment in her hand, " - the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, nine o'clock at Giovanni."

I nod while taking note of the appointment. As I glance up again, I notice the crease between her brows, eyes fixed on the tower of unfinished work on my desk, "It's nearly five o'clock, Miss. Aren't you late for dinner – at the Weasleys, you said? Mr Potter has already left fifteen minutes ago – "

I let out a deep breath, chuckling. "Well, we have to finalise this final draft by tomorrow, and I'm not even halfway through this whole thing – so I think I'll have to pass. I'm sure they'll understand – "

"But isn't Mr Weasley back from training tonight? You haven't seen each other in months, Miss – "

I flash a hesitant smile, "He'll understand - " I inwardly roll my eyes at that, tasting the poison on my tongue, " - this is more important than dinner. The Wizengamot finally granted us a second reading, and you know how difficult it is to make them listen to anything - much less to a proposed bill for the protection of house elves..."

Exhaling, I quickly become aware of my prattling, which I tend to do when I'm trying to convince someone. In this case, myself. I try to avoid Melinda's gaze by pretending to look for a lost document across the desk.

"Oh, you work too much, Miss," the witch at the door remarks. I only sigh in defeat. "I can stay for a little while and help with the papers – "

"No," I say, waving a hand dismissively, "Go home. Rest early. I'm fine, really. Besides, I work best when I'm alone. I'll see you tomorrow, Melinda."

Smiling, I focus my attention on the unrolled scroll laid out on the desk. I take a slight peek and catch the young witch looking at me with uncertainty but remains quiet. After a long pause, Melinda finally concedes, "Alright. Good night, Ms Granger."

I try to maintain the smile on my face, watching her leave. Once she was out of earshot, I tightly grip the edge of the desk and exhale in frustration – knowing that this night will be as long as the day that had gone by – and, with one last sigh, I rub my eyes awake.

I lean over and search for another file before comparing it to the page on the book I've opened. I pull the quill from my ear to make notes in a yellow parchment. Sweat begins to drip down my back, so I remove the dress robes from my shoulders and throw it over the chair. I'm beyond exhausted – my muscles aching with every move that I make, my legs stiff from standing too long, my hands numb when I write long notes; but this… this is what I do.

I work as a Senior Magical Researcher under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures from morning 'til evening. And if it is even possible to bring work at home, I take it home and keep working. Even Ron sometimes complains that I work too much – but in all honesty, I don't know anything else other than work. This is what I'm good at and everyone knows how dedicated I am to my career; although sometimes I worry that this – whatever I'm doing – isn't worth it.

"Working late again?"

A shriek escapes my throat, followed by a startled jump and the tip of my wand defensively pointed at the blond wizard leaning against the threshold. A hex nearly slips from my mouth but as soon as I see him, I swallow it back.

He arches a brow in amusement.

"God – " I exhale in relief. A satisfied smirk breaks across his lips. I shoot him a deathly glare and throws the nearest thing I can reach - a crumpled paper - at him, which he dodges effortlessly. I scowl, "Stop doing that! It wouldn't take a bloody minute to knock!"

Malfoy chuckles, "Well – that wouldn't be fun, would it?"

He enters the office without permission – not that he ever asked for it – and plops himself on one of the single cushions. Much to my dismay, he lifts his feet and rests them on the edge of my desk. I simply roll my eyes and keep working.

Scheming through the document, I realise that I've been the reading the same sentence five times and not a word sinking in. "What are you doing here? I thought you have a date tonight – "

"Had a date," Malfoy grumbles as he looks away. "I couldn't stand the witch. I swear on Salazar's grave, she shrieks like a bloody banshee. I left her at the restaurant when she went to the loo." He rubs his face with a hand before letting out a frustrated sigh. A strand of his white-blond hair falls over his eyes and creates a silhouette, giving him an inexplicable look.

I raise my eyes in disappointment – a tiny smile curling the corner of my mouth - before grabbing a new parchment and scribbling notes from my references. "Well, that's what usually happens when you allow your mother to set you up on blind dates – "

He shoots me a pointed look, so warm that I can feel his eyes burning through me. "I do not allow her. She simply goes with it without my approval – "

" – well, it's not like you refuse her either – "

"I'd like to keep my mother...  _happy_ ," Malfoy says with a hint of nonchalance. He turns his head to the right where my bookshelves are, eyeing the view with such interest.

Silence fell between us. However, it isn't the kind that feels uncomfortable, rather the kind that provides a sense of familiarity that even if our words are reduced into steady breaths and look-aways, we know – we know what this means.

I sit back. I pull myself toward the desk and lean forward on my arms before giving him a knowing look, "We both know that the only way to make your mother truly happy is to stop seeing me. She  _hates_ me." Malfoy squints at me, glaring – but I only shrug.

Waving my wand, all of the papers began to clear from the desk and pile themselves in a tower. The books close and return to the empty spaces on the shelves. All that remains is a final draft, written in a fifty-feet scroll with its top-end flowing down the floor. I tip my quill in the inkpot before scribbling my new research – but my mind keeps on drifting somewhere else.

"Oh please – " Malfoy groans, throwing his head against the seat with a little creak, " – she knows that it will never happen. I can be friends with whoever I choose. I am her son, not her pet – "

"And she is only looking after you – "

"Oh, gods! You're starting to sound like her. Might as well go on and have regular afternoon teas with her," he drawls indignantly. His grey eyes flash in irritation, his hands clenched into a tight fist, and he bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to snark some sarcastic reply.

I sigh deeply.

Our relationship is – to say the least – very complicated. Not many can understand how we became friends but we are more similar than we thought. We have a connection that I've never felt with anyone, even with Harry or Ron – and he understands me as much as I understand him.

We aren't perfect. I remind him how it feels to be human while he reminds me that not everything has to be taken seriously. I can't presume to know how we work but despite our obvious differences, the two of us seem to fit like missing puzzle pieces.

But we knew that it wouldn't be easy.

Narcissa Malfoy still occasionally boasts about blood supremacy in her soirees or tea parties, still refers to me as the Mudblood, and still thinks that I'm lower than the dirt under her shoes; and Ron still grumbles and curses and spits on the Malfoy name as though they are all the same to him.

Not many understood but there are some that have accepted and moved on – like Harry, most of the Weasleys, Blaise, Theo –

"Granger?" I turn back to my uninvited guest and hum in question. He quips, "If you frown hard enough, your whole brain is going to shrivel – what are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I shrug, continuing my work. Our eyes met, only exploring each other. He arches his brow, waiting for me to say something. I smile, "Just that... we've come so far. Our friendship, and I'm glad that we've become friends despite what other people say."

The quiet surrounds us and fills the entire office. I listen to the grating noise my quill makes as I write and watch as the letters come together in words before my eyes. My legs tighten under the table and try to ignore the low growl in my stomach; soon, I feel his eyes watching me again closely.

Taking a short glimpse to confirm my suspicion, I see a deep frown forming across his forehead. I ask, giving him a bored look: "What? Do I have something on my face - " I consciously lift a hand to wipe the stain on my face, only to stop when I hear his reply.

"Where is Weasley?" He asks outright, not holding back. I hitch a breath. I look down again, concealing the heat rushing through my cheeks. Too late. "Aren't you supposed to be having dinner at the Burrow? I thought that he's coming home tonight – "

"He is," I reply tersely.

 _Keep writing,_  I tell myself – but the words are swimming in my eyes.

Malfoy frowns before lifting his eyebrows higher as realisation finally hits him. I let out a heavy breath in exasperation while his mouth twitches into a teasing smirk. He leans back and folds his arms over his chest, "So I take it – you still haven't replied to his letter last week. Still avoiding him, huh?"

"I AM NOT – " Tension rises to my head – but I let out a defeated sigh, knowing that he is right. My hands drop on the desk, the quill rests atop the open scroll before I lean back. I rub my eyes, keep them shut as I try to avoid looking at him.

The swell in my chest burns – warmer, warmer, and warmer – and the look in my eyes soften, "I'm not – I just… I'm tired, you know, of fighting and of trying to make him understand that this – " I draw in a breath and pause, not knowing the right words to say, " – what I'm doing is important to me. I want to do some good in this world, and I try so very hard to make ends meet and help build a better place for everyone – "

A nervous laugh erupts from my mouth after my words. I only look at him with so much question, and he only looks back at me with so much understanding, " – but I can't do it when he always asks me to… to… rest and drop and just…  _stop_. I mean, how do I do that? I – I – I don't even know how to do that. I don't even think that the word  _rest_ fits in my vocabulary. It isn't  _me_  – and I'd be utterly lost if… if…"

I release a deep – and final – breath as I run out of words to say. I glance up and see Malfoy staring at me as though I am a book laid open before him, and all of the sudden, I feel naked and raw and so uninhibited. "Is that so wrong? To want him to want me as me and not as someone he wants me to be?"

He shakes his head, "Of course not. It's Weasley; he has the intellect of an ape – very primitive and rusted – and we all know what a pompous arse he is – "

Snorting, I ask him, "And what makes you think you're better than him?"

Malfoy glares back – his teeth clenching, the inside of his cheek flinching, and his dried lips quivering. He remains quiet, and after a moment, he mutters, tearing his gaze away, "The fact that I never strongly denied it. Weasley, however - "

I breathe in – the impact of his truth slamming against my truth, and I know – as much as he does – that he is right in this matter. "I know," I whisper with a tight-lipped smile, "But he's my boyfriend – and I…" I croak at the words that are supposed to follow but the letters seem to be trapped in a barbed wire surrounding the column of my throat, and I can't make myself say it.

 _Love him_ , I tell myself. I love him. Even if we fight more than we kiss, I still do.

Hiding my face behind my hands, I groan out loud in anguish and choke back the anger, the shame, the guilt, the doubt down to my stomach where I can hide them.

Malfoy still looks at me expectantly - waiting and watching.

I stammer: "Gods, I… I don't know what to do."

I peek through the holes between my fingers and watch as Malfoy leans closer and narrows the distance between us, "If anyone in this world would know what to do, it would be you." A smirk reappears on his lips, and maybe – just maybe – things would be alright.


	3. When Draco learns the inevitability of feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very Muggle accident leads to an unusually long friendship between Hermione and Draco. But is that all that it is? A series of not-so-random encounters. HG/DM. EWE. Post-War. Non-Canon pairing. AU. Loosely based on the film, "When Harry Met Sally".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, guys! I know, I'm late, and I'm sorry. I've been busy finishing my requirements for work, so it took a little while to do some finishing touches on this chapter. 
> 
> Anyway, before we go ahead, I would like to re-announce that I am still looking for extremely eager alpha-readers to check on a few other stories that I'm currently plotting. Ships are either: Draco/Hermione or Sirius/Hermione. A major benefit is that you will get a firsthand glimpse of my stories before I even post it. If interested, send me a message through here or Tumblr (whichever is more convenient; same name as my username here) and we'll discuss the necessary details. Thank you so much!
> 
> Dedication: LightofEvolution (who constantly worries about me, and for that, I am genuinely thankful for this beautiful person), Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. Thank you so much for everything! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Three**

"When Draco learns the inevitability of feelings"

.o.O.o.

 _"_ _I've been cold, I've been merciless_  
But the blood on my hands scares me to death  
Maybe I'm waking up today"

_(I'll be good, Jaymes Young)_

.o.O.o.

May 2002

The Burrow is, as always, boisterous and wild and crowded with people.

It is a normal Sunday – in which old friends and co-workers have been invited for lunch to celebrate the end of the Second Wizarding War.

An extendable tent stands out in the backyard where most of the guests are gathered, drinking and eating and talking, and I lean against the farthest post, holding a half-full glass of pumpkin juice in my hand.

My feet ache, trying to remember how long I've been standing in these miserable five-inch stilettos that Ginny forced me to wear – and even if I liked the fact that Ron spent a whole good minute to gawk at me, or specifically my legs, I can still feel the rigidity of my knees about to break.

As I cast a cushioning charm on my feet to ease the pain, an exaggerated roar of laughter erupts from the middle of the crowd. I look ahead and see Ron huddled between his mates with one arm around Seamus, and the other hand grasping a bottle of beer.

Ron arrived last night from Quidditch camp. It was around half-past midnight when he came, standing outside my front door with a large duffle bag in one hand, his broom on the other, and a cheeky grin.

It wasn't the first time he'd done this, and I doubt it will be the last – but if anything, I'm happy he came home. None of us - family and friends - were sure whether he'd come home for the party since we hadn't received any owls lately, but when I saw him, I immediately threw my arms around him and inhale his familiar scent as though I've been deprived of air.

I remember -

I shake off the thought, exhaling.

Sweat drips across my skin. The air thins as the guests fill in the tent, and so I decide to take a walk. I push through the crowd and go outside.

As I manage to walk across the wheat field, the laughter and the chatter ebb into a hazy background noise, overwhelmed by the whistling wind. My dress flies behind, and I tug the hem of my cardigan – bracing myself against the chilly air – while a few of my tamed curls brush on the side of my face.

A scraping noise disturbs the quiet atmosphere, making me glance back and find Draco walking in my direction. I turn to completely face him as he stops to stand next to me.

He wears his casual suit with his hands pushed deep into his trouser pockets and armed with a questioning look. The late afternoon sun shines on him, giving his pale hair a soft glow and his face a light shadow.

Squinting, I ask him, "What are you doing here?"

"Obviously, I followed you – because, honestly, there aren't many sensible people to talk to in that tent," he declares, and the orange horizon fading behind him.

Silence befalls us again.

He remains still, darting his eyes across the wide wheat field. I only gaze at him, seeing the involuntary movements contorting his face.

He looks… troubled, I think. A frown forms on my face, and before I can ask him anything, Draco spoke first.

"Weasley seems to be enjoying himself, though. I wonder what he and his mates are laughing about," he remarks. "Tell me – does Weasley always leave you like this?"

A gust of wind blows through our way again, and a few more curls fly over my head again, so I brush them back with a hand.

The smile on my face distorts. I stutter, choking on a mix of jumbled syllables carelessly tumbling out of my mouth. I look away with a sigh.

I say, fiddling with the hem of my cardigan, "He's away for months. He doesn't have the luxury to see our friends as often as I can – so it doesn't really matter to me."

A snort escapes him, and I catch scepticism visible in his light-shaded eyes. I lace my fingers, twisting and knotting and wringing, and the air in my lungs insufficiently scarce.

"What about you? Doesn't he miss you at all?" He raises his brow at me inquisitively.

I look at anything - and everything - in attempts to avoid looking at his eyes. "Don't think I didn't notice because I did. I'm not blind, and certainly not stupid, to see that it didn't even take him a few minutes after you arrived to leave you and start laughing with his mates – "

"It's fine, Draco. We're fine – we're… we're working it out – together," and I look back to Draco to find him already looking at me, "…we aren't perfect, you know, and like every other relationship, we struggle. He has some problems that he needs to deal with, and so do I. We're… okay, I guess. It will take some time, I'm sure, but we'll be fine."

"You know," Draco hinted, "No one would blame you if you – you know – got tired…" I look back at him, frowning deeply, but his look is fixated on the field.

"What – " I stutter and let out a nervous laugh, "It's not… I'm not – that's not why I'm staying. I'm not doing this because I'm scared of hurting his family or Ginny or Harry… The reason why I'm still here is that, for some unbelievable reason, I love him. Very much so."

"Even if he leaves you for his mates?"

Rolling my eyes, I huff, "Yes - of course, I do. And as I said, it doesn't matter to me." The words taste like rotten fruit in my mouth, and I find the open space as a better view to look at. I watch the wheat sway along to the direction of the wind, the noise behind us echoing, and both of us standing still.

"It should, Granger."

"I know," I whisper, letting out a deep breath and swallowing the lump lodged in my throat.

I look up and watch as Draco stare blankly into space as though he'd gotten lost in his own unconscious.

Raising a brow, I ask, "So, what's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?" He glances down at me, narrows his eyes, and then folds his arms protectively over his chest.

"The fact that you're asking that is what I mean," I tell him – rolling my eyes at his denial. He snorts, and a cheeky smile appears on my face. "Look – we've been friends for almost a year now, and I tell you everything – "

" – no, you don't, Granger – "

Okay, well maybe not. I give him an apologetic look, "Alright, fine – but we both know that you know me better than Ginny and Harry combined."

He scoffs, though slightly agreeing with what I said. His arms tighten its fold over his chest as though putting his barrier back up.

"…and we both know that I know you better than all of your Slytherin friends. Or Mother – "

He draws in a sharp breath. I keep waiting.

I can see the clouded look in his eyes – lost and drifting in his thoughts. "You can tell me, you know, whatever it is that's been bothering you all afternoon." I watch him turn his face away as though I've caught him in a lie.

The wind shifts and the wheat dance in the other direction while we both stand still in complete silence. A few stray curls fly by my face again, lifting a hand to tuck them behind my ear.

I glance at him again, and from the corner of my eye, I see the pained look on his face – as though he carries a burden, weighing him down, down, and down under the ground – and I sigh.

"Do you hate my family?" He asks – the question springing out of nowhere.

My mouth hangs open as I fail to form the right words because I don't know what the right words are. He looks down at me. I feel his warm grey eyes fixed on me and I look ahead, avoiding his stare.

"Do you hate my mother? My father? For – for what happened in the Manor, or what they did to you, or what my mother still thinks of you - "

"I don't – " I begin, but I feel each letter of the word trap in my throat, along with every breath that I take. Memories start to flash in my mind, too fast and too soon, and I can't stop them – losing control and spiralling down into the ocean to drown and sink and die. But I look up at him and breathe out. "I don't… know, Draco. I'm sorry – "

Draco tears his gaze from mine. But I didn't fail to notice the hurt, the shame, and the guilt masking his eyes as he looks away. I raise a hand to touch his shoulder, only to pull them back as if I've been burned, and so I look back to the wheat field.

In between our silence, I can hear him inhale and exhale as much as I can feel the weight on his shoulders getting heavier.

I stare into the setting sun when he finally says, "The Wizengamot finally ruled my father's sentence. He shall be given the Dementor's kiss next week, Saturday – and I… they're asking me to be there."

Looking back up, I catch his eyes – lost and almost as red as the burning sun – before I reach up and pull him into a hug. My arms tighten around him as his own snake around my waist – and together, we stand there, holding each other for what seemed like hours.

I hear him - feel him breathing down my neck. Shallow and fast and breaking like glass.

I whisper to him, "I'll be there with you, okay? I promise – "

"You don't have to – "

"No," I insist and push back. He bows his head but I cup a hand against his cheek to pull his face back up. I look at him straight in the eyes and say, "It doesn't matter to me. What matters is you, Draco. He is still your father despite his methods and failures to act like one – but you have memories of him, and he matters to you, and you matter to me. I'll be there with you, I promise…"

"I hate him, you know, so much that I… but I – "

"It's okay to have feelings, you know," I remind him – just as I remind him every day – and he meets my eyes again with a glimmer of hope in them. I smile. "To feel something other than hate – maybe love, who knows? It's what makes us human – "

Draco snorts, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't say anything at all. He steps back from me, and we both hear someone calling out from the Burrow.

I glance at the house and I see Ron – his face red as his hair – waving his arm to gesture me over. He stands not very far from the tent, his hands placed on his waist, and a glare directed at us.

Sighing, I look back at Draco and say, "I should go. He's – "

Draco glares back at Ron before meeting my gaze again, and he grumbles, "Well, we wouldn't want to ruin the evening by angering the Weasel. We both know what happened the last time – " I send him a pointed look, which eventually fades as soon as I see him smirk.

"I'll catch you later, Malfoy," I smile.

He nods in understanding; although, I notice a hint of disappointment in his gaze before he looks across the wheat field. I wait for him to look back at me, ignoring Ron's impatience behind me, before I start walking back to the Burrow.

I take one last glance to see Draco still looking into the open space with his hands buried in his trouser pockets – and the last light of sun beaming right at him.


	4. When Draco requires a companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very Muggle accident leads to an unusually long friendship between Hermione and Draco. But is that all that it is? A series of not-so-random encounters. HG/DM. EWE. Post-War. Non-Canon pairing. AU. Loosely based on the film, "When Harry Met Sally".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Helloooooooo! Oh good God, I've received so many positive reviews on this story, and I'm absolutely delighted! Thank you so much! Your reviews mean so much to me, especially when you personally message me about it on Tumblr, email, or private message!
> 
> Anyway, before we go ahead, I would like to re-announce that I am still looking for extremely eager alpha-readers to check on a few other stories that I'm currently plotting. As of now, I am communicating with two new alpha-readers and I'm definitely excited to work with them; so yay, welcome to my creative bubble! Again - ships are either: Draco/Hermione or Sirius/Hermione. A major benefit is that you will get a firsthand glimpse of my stories before I even post it. If interested, send me a message through here or Tumblr (whichever is more convenient) and we'll discuss the necessary details. Thank you so much!
> 
> So let's get on with it. Here is the new chapter as promised! Enjoy!
> 
> Dedication: LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Four**

"When Draco requires a companion"

.o.O.o.

_"You can say goodbye_   
_Only to find you've been alone right from the start_   
_So what am I fighting for?"_

_(Is there anybody out there?, Secondhand Serenade)_

.o.O.o.

December 2002

I hear nothing.

My breaths quicken – and I can feel all their gazes, burning through and through like a flaming iron poker, as my body freezes in place. I exhale, and the air coming out of my nose is hot.

I look back to the servant who rushes to clean the shattered wine glasses from the marble floor before I scramble out of the nearest doors.

The smell of frozen air welcomes me as I arrive outside. Their stares – their look of disgust as if I'm the lowest piece of dirt under their shoes - I can still feel it. Branded me with a name so fast that it wouldn't be possible for me to refuse.

How… how could I let this happen – I don't know.

I let out a deep breath as the breeze of ice-cold atmosphere wraps around me like a warning. Casting a simple warming charm, I continue to pace back and forth across the wide snow-covered balcony, fingers fiddling like tightropes, holding and gripping and twisting in fear that I might fall once I let go.

I throw my head back in rage and see nothing but sleet of snow falling, and for a moment, I've forgotten what –

My trance breaks at the familiar sound of classical music, and the laughter, and the chatter – all at once happening while I'm here outside, walking frantically, and a heavy stone seems to be weighing inside my stomach.

Groaning, my feet involuntarily moving around the floor, I clench my hands - nearly drawing blood by how deep I dig my nails against my palms - and I can feel my face growing hotter.

 _I've had enough_ , I hiss at myself.  _I'm stretched and torn and_ done _… just done –_

I remember a woman gossiping to her colleague – lowly yet loud enough for me to hear – and I detect the blatant disgust in her tone, " _I thought she is dating that Weasley – the one who plays Quidditch? Why in Salazar's name would she even come here? Is she cheating on her boyfriend –_  "

I was sitting by one of the dining tables, waiting for Draco to return, and I gripped the tablecloth around my hands as tight as I possibly could - refraining from reaching my wand and hex them to oblivion.

As the two women continued their mindless gossip behind me, I tried to listen to the music, and watch the guests dance across the ballroom, and think about the project report that I have to submit tomorrow on the –

" _…hypocrite!_ " I heard another woman gasp, " _I dare say she only associates herself with Draco for his fortune. The Weasleys are all dirt poor – Merlin, they can't even afford to buy a proper house. All they have are those_ atrocious _boxes._ "

The statement was followed by a high-pitched shrill that resembled a laugh.

I sigh as I remember taking a deep breath and forcing myself to swallow the bitter snarks bubbling up in my throat right at that moment.

" _She has quite the nerve to attend, don't you think?_   _This ball is exclusively for the elite members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and she is nothing but a_ mudb _–_  "

I stomp my heel, a screech breaking out, as I remember what happened after that.

I didn't mean to cause a scene – in fact, I avoided it – but as soon as I got up, my body slammed into an unsuspecting servant. The silver tray he was carrying flipped, the wine glasses flying and falling and cracking like bones splitting –

A shaky sigh escapes my lips, pressing my hand against my mouth and pushing back a sob.

 _What was I thinking? This is insane_ , I think.

I knew then when Draco asked me to be his date for his mother's Christmas Ball, this idea reeked of foolishness and utter stupidity – but I never thought that I'd actually agree.

Inhaling a sharp breath, I keep on pacing, my fingers stretched and frozen and rubbed red, and I can feel my lungs deflating rapidly as though there isn't enough space for more air.

I let out a soft sob. A tear slides down my cheek, releasing an enraged hiss, "This is mad – no, this is… Merlin help me. I had one job! You had one job, and that is to ignore them and smile and dance and just…  _be there_. But what did you do – you had to lose it – "

My chest swells as I breathe in, ignoring the snow that gathered around the hem of my dress. I let out a shaky whimper, and the sound of my incoherent sobbing is overtaken by the wind and the music coming from the ballroom.

"Oh, Godric – why is this happening?" I ask myself – sitting on the edge of the balcony and allowing an exhausted breath to escape. "I can't believe this is – "

"Why are you talking to yourself?"

A deep voice calls out in the dark; looking up, I find Draco standing a few feet away in his robes, hands in his pockets, and his eyes looking right at me. I'm not surprised to see him out here, in the cold, with me; I knew he'd come looking for me once he realised that I've left - and now, here we are.

I feel the tear stains drying on my cheeks as the wind continues to blow harsher and colder, yet the weight on my chest still as warm and as heavy as my shoulders feel.

I shake my head, waving a hand dismissively and avoiding his eyes completely.

He takes a step closer, the soles of his expensive dragon-hide shoes scraping against the floor.

I lace my fingers, resting the back of my hands on my lap, tired of pulling and stretching and twisting it, before I look up again.

Our eyes met – his filled with conviction, mine filled with anger and shame – but neither of us breaks the contact.

I snicker – my chest burning, finding breathing to be intolerably painful, as if someone set a fire inside my lungs, "I told you – this is incredibly mad…"

Rising from the edge, I begin pacing again as though my feet never got tired of walking back and forth. "W-what – what were we thinking? This… we're clearly out of our minds here, Draco! I mean – this is obviously the worst idea ever – "

Draco raises an eyebrow.

"Don't you look at me like that," I say, pointing a finger at him. "You didn't see what… what happened inside – and how those people looked at me like I-I'm… Gods, I can't honestly believe I agreed to come here."

I let out a dry laugh. "I mean, your mother alone is capable of dousing my drink with the Draught of Living Death without my notice. Nor yours. What more in a room full of people who see me the same way as her?"

The length of my throat tightens as I miserably fail to contain my emotions.

"Of course she is," Draco huffs, "She is both a Black  _and_  a Malfoy – "

"Then," I screech, my voice at breaking point, "I don't know why you think this is such a good idea!"

With a heavy breath, I glare at him and fold my arms protectively. A few loose curls from my tight bun fly by my cheeks and I tuck them away.

"I… I respect your mother – " he snorts, but I ignore him, " – but she makes it hard for me to keep doing this… to be friends with you…"

Immediately, Draco snaps his head to look at me - a mix of confusion and horror swirling in the depth of his grey eyes.

"A-are you saying what I think you're saying?" He asks, his words stumbling out unprepared. Taking another step, he leans to me – his breathing fast and warm – and I can feel my own words trapped in my throat. "Are you telling me that we can't be friends anymore? Is that it?"

" _What?_ " I ask, maintaining a high tone but ultimately failing at that.

My eyes widen at his assumption, and I let out a scoff, sensing the anger rising up in my throat before I take a step of my own. "Is that how you  _really_  think of me? That I-I'm just going to end this friendship because your mother refuses to acknowledge me? If so, then you never knew me at all!"

Throwing my hands up in anger, I turn around to avoid his face, and not even waiting for a reply, I turn back again to face him, "Tell me – if Ron tries to convince you to stop seeing me, would you have done it?"

He opens his mouth to answer but I hear no words coming out.

I ask again, firmer this time, " _Would you?!_ "

"OF COURSE NOT!"

A sigh of defeat passes through his mouth as exhaustion also begins to take a toll on him. "Of course not, Granger. No one – I mean,  _no one_  – can make me stop seeing you except  _you_. Not Potter, not Weasley, and not even my own mother – "

"It's the same for me," I tell him. He turns his face away as though he feels ashamed to see me, but as I move closer, he glances back to me. "That's not… I'm not saying that we should stop being friends – and we know that that is stupid, and we are anything but that, being two of the brightest students in our year – but what I mean is that I also get hurt. I'm not invincible to pain, I'm human after all, and so are you.

"I came here," I go on and take his hands in mine, "because you asked me to. I wouldn't have come here if your mother asked because for obvious reasons, I don't trust her. You asked me to be here as your date because you're exhausted of being passed around to pureblood witches with the brain-size of a peanut."

Draco looks up. "What do you want me to do, then?"

"Nothing," I answer, a smile finally bending my red-coated lips, "Just…  _be here_. Be my friend as much as I am your friend. I can never ask for anything else. But I tell you, and I know that you agree with me – this is undoubtedly a terrible idea. Honestly, what were we even thinking? Trying to civilise these people from their own ancient pureblood dogma?"

I look at him pointedly, and he returns it with a smirk, and I feel his hand closing around mine.

"You're right," he says in a calmer tone. "This is bloody mad. We are completely out of our minds. But since when did we ever care about what people think?"

"I know. But we don't always have to charge into battle, waving the flag of civility and decency and talking about equal rights – there will always be people who will oppose us…  _this_ , especially this friendship." Pausing, the smile on my face falters into a tight-lipped one. "Look, I fought in the war, so did you, and I realise now that it is absolutely wrong to think that we can change how they think – because that's not how this works, you know; we cannot force them to believe or agree with us the same way that they cannot force us to believe or agree with them. It's just the way it is…"

Draco tilts his head up. He releases one of my hands and lifts his own to rub the clouded look from his eyes, before turning back to me, with his grey irises a little red but clearer.

"Okay," he nods and presses his lips together, "I'm sorry – if I forced you to come here…"

"What? Of course  _not_!" I chuckle before softly hitting him on the back of his head. He responds with a laugh and runs his hand through his pale hair. "Stop thinking like that – it only makes me think you don't know me at all. A year of being friends, and you still think that I have no will of my own. I came here because you asked me to – nicely if I may add. I came here to support you. I came here because I wanted to…"

I pause again, the quiet gently sinking in for a moment before I add, "Besides, you would've done the same for me. We're friends, and this is what friends do – "

"What – go on a  _date_?"

"No, you  _arse_ ," I giggle as I hit him on the shoulder, "Support each other. And please, as if I was going to miss seeing your mother's face when she sees us together. She looked like she was about to tear the whole house apart because a mudb – "

" _Don't_  call yourself that," Draco hisses, glaring at me this time.

"Fine," I roll my eyes before continuing, " –  _Muggle-born_  walks into her home. She can't even welcome  _and_  insult me at the same time."

Draco laughs out loud – this time, unreserved and uncontrolled – and I let out a giggle too.

Looking down, I exhale in relief. "Thank you, Draco, for being my friend. Adds colour to my boring life."

Draco snickers. "If your life is so utterly boring, then I must ask you what do you make of Weasley's existence?"

I slap his arm. He winces, giving me a questioning look as if he didn't say anything wrong. Narrowing my eyes, he argues, "Please – we both know that your boyfriend is the laziest, the most unfortunate, and the least passionate man that we know."

"He's…" I begin – but my voice cracks as I find myself with no words at Draco's statement. I sigh and shrug, "He's trying to figure it out. He has a good career as a Quidditch player – "

"Yes," Draco drawls, "but that won't last forever, you know? There are rules in Quidditch such as age limits – and once he reaches that age, what would he do then? He still lives in his parents' home. Sometimes, of course, you let him sleep in your flat. But you know that he has to get his shit together – "

"He will, Draco," I insist. "He will. I trust him, and I'll be here to support him no matter what." A disbelieving hum erupts from Draco's mouth; though he says nothing else. "Look, can we have  _one night_  in which we don't talk about this? Come on, we should get back inside – "

Draco frowns, shock evident in his eyes, "What – you still want to go back inside? They'll keep on talking – "

"I thought you said, we didn't care about that," I say, flashing a smile. He narrows his eyes at me. "If we stay here and hide, they might as well claim that they've won, and I'm not having that. I'm not a bloody coward - "

"You aren't," Draco says, still not moving. "Besides, I thought you said, we shouldn't always charge into battle – "

"Well," I drawl, my smile turning into a cunning smirk, "There are always other ways to fight a battle. I call this – doing whatever the hell we want and not giving a damn about it. Like I said, it's just the way it is."

The crease between Draco's eyebrows deepens in confusion.

I unsuccessfully try to suppress a giggle; my worries slowly ebbing away as I watch him. "Come on. I'd rather not walk in there alone. You are my date, after all," I say, linking an arm around his. I lean up and kiss his cheek, and together, we walk back inside the ballroom.


	5. When Draco develops an obsession with beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very Muggle accident leads to an unusually long friendship between Hermione and Draco. But is that all that it is? A series of not-so-random encounters. HG/DM. EWE. Post-War. Non-Canon pairing. AU. Loosely based on the film, "When Harry Met Sally".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I know it's advance, but I'm moving the update schedule every Thursdays, Eastern time, since it's my only rest day. Gah, I'm still adjusting to my new working environment, so it might take a little more time for me to get some writing done. It's a pain, I know, believe me. But hopefully, in the next few months, I'll be able to adjust well and have more time to do stuff.
> 
> Anyway, before we go ahead, I would like to re-announce that I am still looking for extremely eager alpha-readers to check on a few other stories that I'm currently plotting. Ships are either: Draco/Hermione or Sirius/Hermione. A major benefit is that you will get a firsthand glimpse of my stories before I even post it. If interested, send me a message through here or Tumblr (whichever is more convenient) and we'll discuss the necessary details. Thank you so much!
> 
> And of course, thank you all so much for continuously reading this fic! I'm loving all of your positive remarks, it's unbelievable! It means so much to me, and I hope you guys stick around until the end! xoxo
> 
> Dedication: LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

  **Five**

"When Draco develops an obsession with beer"

.o.O.o.

_"And now, here I am_   
_I feel numb, on the fence, on the run_   
_Spill my guts, what an act_   
_I am sad but to me, I'm lovely sad"_

_(Lovely Sad, The Maine)_

.o.O.o.

April 2003

"I should have told you a long time ago."

Draco faces the city – bright lights of Muggle London blinking like fallen stars on a blanket of blackness – before he lifts his beer to his mouth.

He always complains about how awful it tastes yet he drinks at least four bottles at night. Ironic, no?

I haven't talked to him in about a month. Neither of us sent any owls or Floo calls or anything at all since that day - nothing, really; well until tonight when he knocked on my front door at half-past ten in the late evening, and since then, we have been sitting here quietly for over an hour.

I huff, trying to suppress a bitter laugh from bubbling out of my throat, "Yes - well, it's about time you realise that, don't you think?"

He sighs in defeat.

"I just… I was being selfish, you know," Draco begins – and even in the dark, I can see the flushed look on his face as his hands began gesturing frantically. "I only wanted some time of – you know – peace and quiet before the press begins making an issue about my personal life."

"You're Draco Malfoy," I say and give him an obvious look. "You are  _cursed_  not to have peace and quiet – and please, your mother made a whole lot of noise about that in the Prophet. Even she isn't very supportive of your peace and quiet."

He pauses. I watch him from my seat, his back straightened and rigid, his shoulders flexed, and his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. Both of us fall into a dreading silence, and I've never felt as uncomfortable as this - not when I'm with him.

"Mother dotes on her, you know," says Draco, turning back around and leaning against the edge, "She was actually more excited than I was when I told her about Astoria."

Huffing, I reply, "Well - how can she not? Astoria is beautiful, rich, and most importantly, a  _pureblood_. Next thing we know - your mother will be sending out wedding invites - "

"Oh for Heaven's sake," Draco groans and buries his face in his hands as I chuckle darkly.

Taking the cup of tea from the glass table, I take a careful sip and let the warm liquid swim in my mouth a little longer before swallowing. "And what were you thinking telling me in a very public place – a restaurant, really?"

Draco smirks, "I thought that with your high moral principles, you would consider  _not_  hexing me in public – in front of my girlfriend – and so you didn't, which I'm very thankful for, by the way."

Snorting, I say: "I can still do it, you know." I taunted him with a look; however, he remains quiet while glancing down at his feet.

As the silence stretches, I ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"

My heart skips a beat as I manage to choke back the rest of the words that should've come after that question.

His eyes to meet mine, carefully looking.

I realise how stupid it sounded, so I slouch back against the seat and release a defeated sigh. "Look, I'm sorry - it doesn't matter, forget about it..."

I look away – unable to meet his eyes and show him the guilt currently swelling in my chest. I wasn't mad at him for dating. I was mad that he kept her a secret as though he couldn't trust to tell me about it – and I felt awkward sitting there spotting the colour of bliss in his eyes vivid and pale and unbelievably raw with emotions while looking right at her.

I can still remember how my heart burned – so, so, so painfully warm – and not knowing why; and so I sat there for two hours – trying to listen to Astoria talk about anything and everything, nodding, smiling, and watching – because I had no idea what to say or what to do.

Even when he arrived at the restaurant, Draco introduced the beautiful woman standing right next to him, " _Hermione – this is my girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass_." I switched my gaze from him to the smiling witch – and she looked nearly perfect.

My mouth hung open, trying to come up with words – a retort, a snort, a laugh; Merlin, anything – but ultimately, I had nothing.

" _Oh_ ," I mouthed, thinking in silence for a moment before exclaiming, " _Oh! Oh, right – I'm so sorry. It's nice to meet you_ – "

I offered a hand for a shake, and she took it, and I gestured for them to take a seat, to which they accepted without hesitation.

I draw in a breath.

"I trust you, Granger," he suddenly says, which brings me back to where I sit.

I look at him, wide-eyed. I can almost hear him breathing over the loud city noise that currently fills our senses. And I wait for him to continue.

"I know that I don't – that I don't talk about me… and I apologise for making you feel like I don't trust you – because Merlin knows that I do. Gods, I do – so much – and you are really the only person that I trust in this whole world…"

His eyes meet mine – grey and shining like the city lights behind him, "But I just – I wanted something that only I knew for at least once in my life… even for a short time… and honestly – that felt good, you know."

I open my mouth but no words come out, so I reply with a nod.

Draco mumbles and throws his head back with a chuckle, "We were happy – in those four months of silence – but really after everyone knew, they made it their bloody business… and Astoria – Merlin forbid, she loves the attention – but I… I hate it."

He lets out a sarcastic laugh – and I keep looking at him, waiting, watching, wondering.

"It reminds me of… of the war – and all the publicity and the attention and the looks and the fucking whispering," he says through his gritted teeth.

The weight inside me sinks me harder against my seat. He places an arm over his chest and rubs a hand over his tired eyes.

I pull my knees to my chest, allowing my feet to hang on the edge of my seat, and consciously curl a finger around a strand of hair.

Looking down, I hear the crack in my own voice as I say: "I-I'm sorry. I… I didn't think about it like that – and I-I should've known, I should've understood. But instead, I am trying to be - I don't know, so mad at you for… honestly, I'm not even sure – Gods, I..."

The corner of his lips tweaks into a tiny smile. I chuckle quietly – feeling the heat rushing all over my cheeks so fast – and soon I burst out into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. I don't even know why I'm laughing – but he returns me a slightly wider smile.

"Guess we're both at fault, then," Draco remarks.

I nod – rolling my eyes.

"That is a first, isn't it? Well – cheers to that." He crouches and takes another uncapped beer. He opens it and takes a mouthful. "Merlin's beard – how do Muggles drink this atrocity?"

I laugh at him again. I take my tea and join him in his drinking.

The silence surrounds us again – overwhelming the car passing by, the loud bickering of the couple living right under my flat, and every noise you can hear in the city.

"Do you love her?" I ask once I've finished my tea. He shoots me a questioning look – asking where the hell did I drag that question from – before he sets the half-empty bottle back on the floor. "It's a simple question, Malfoy – "

"You know that that is never a simple question," he says – pointing a finger at me. With a pause and a deep breath, Draco shrugs and continues, "Truthfully – I don't think that I've ever been in love before to know what that is. How about you – do you  _still_  love Weasley?"

"I…" The words hitch in the back of my throat. I used to be certain – and I knew how much I loved him and how much I was willing to give – but now… I'm not sure. I don't know anymore.

I try to think what went wrong, and how we turned into a fire fueled engine - ready to burn everything, along with ourselves - and we've been spiralling down, fast and unstoppable, and our fragmented story so close to reaching its end.

"I don't know…" I whisper, eyes downcast and brimming with tears. A few drops fall to my bare knees. I let them slide down my legs. I let my arms hug my knees tighter. I let my heart burn and constrict and die –

I know that he can hear me – the quiet sobs, the heavy intakes of breath, the sniffling, even the shaking – but I also know that he only lets me cry. He doesn't tell me to stop because he knows how much it hurts to hide everything inside – and even if only for him, he allows me to cry and break.

All the gods know that I don't want to talk about it. If it is even all possible, I'd avoid it entirely. But I need to; the rusty gears in my stomach grinding against each other, reminding me of how cowardly I've been for months - Merlin no, years.

Looking up, I meet his grey eyes – waiting and watching – and I tell him: "You know – when Harry proposed to Ginny, I began thinking about us. About Ron and I. And I… I realised that five years have gone by and even if I tell myself every single day that someday he will learn to love me as much as I love him, I've never really had that assurance. I've been lying to myself all along and I've gotten so bloody good at it that I start believing myself – " I hiccup and sniffle, " – and…  _fuck_ , I don't know. I don't know if I still love him or if I can still wait for him or if I want to stay or leave. All I know is that I'm tired – of this whole thing."

I release cracked sobs and allow more tears to fall. Then, I remember him – his face as red as his thick hair, his calloused hands, his chapped lips, his freckles… and I want to hate him. It would be so much easier if I did – but I can't.

Continuing, I say: "And I saw how you look at Astoria. I mean – he used to look at me like that. He would stutter and open his mouth – empty with words – and the glint in his eyes said enough about how he loved me. He used to brush a hand over my hair and play with my curls and whisper to me while we sleep. He'd smile and laugh with me – but now… I just – he wouldn't even owl me for months. And I-I-I'm bloody tired of waiting for something to happen – "

"End it."

My eyes widen – more tears threatening to fall – and Draco looks back at me without blinking. Two words – and my rambling stops, my words are nothing but a mix of incoherent sounds.

"Just end it. Stop this madness and end it. It's easy as that."

I bolt from my seat and snarl back, "No – it's  _bloody_  not! I-I can't! And how dare you say that this is only madness – I loved him!"

I pace and throw my hands in the air as anxiety kicks in. My chest heaves in anger and sucks in all the air that I can breathe.

"I can't simply end it. We've… we've been together for a very long time – and I can't throw away five years of – "

I sigh.  _What am I going to do?_  "I don't know, Draco. I'm terrified."

He hums in response. Taking back his beer, he takes another sip and savours it in his mouth. "Look – you know that no one would blame you if you end it. And I'll gladly punch Weasley for you."

I snicker a laugh and he smirks at me. I wipe the tear tracks off my face when I hear him say, "You know – in between your rambling, you said fuck. Have you noticed?"

I frown and try to remember.  _Oh right. I did, didn't I?_

He smiles and raises his beer to me. "Glad to know you're not incorruptible." I smile back and watch as he takes his final sip – and we allow the night to be consumed by the city noise.


	6. When Draco takes a punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very Muggle accident leads to an unusually long friendship between Hermione and Draco. But is that all that it is? A series of not-so-random encounters. HG/DM. EWE. Post-War. Non-Canon pairing. AU. Loosely based on the film, "When Harry Met Sally".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, guys! Well, work is still as taxing as it can be - so I haven't been able to write anything in the last two weeks. But I'm sure you don't want to know what goes on at work, so let's skip that. So let me just: thank you all so much for continuously reading this fic! I'm loving all of your positive remarks, it's unbelievable! It means so much to me, and I hope you guys stick around until the end! xoxo
> 
> Dedication: LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Six**

"When Draco takes a punch"

.o.O.o.

" _You can never say never while we don't know it  
__Time and time again  
__Younger now than we were before  
__Don't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go  
__Don't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go_ "

_(Never Say Never, The Fray)_

.o.O.o.

November 2004

"Sit down."

Draco obeys and sits on the edge of the bathroom sink while holding an ice pack against the bruise on his chin.

I take a washcloth and rinse it with water – trying to ignore the sound of his wincing and hissing and trying  _not_  to  _Avada_  his arse. Instead, I try to focus on the water rushing through the faucet. The cold liquid sliding all over my hands, drenching the fabric between my hands, and I can slightly feel my hands shaking. I don't know if it is anxiety or anger – but I can feel it, and I don't know how to stop it.

Turning around, I take a step and stop in front of him before starting to clean the dried blood from his forehead. He hisses a curse as the fabric touches the open wound – but I ignore him, muttering, "You need to get this checked at St Mungo's – might need some proper healing."

I cast a silent  _Scourgify_  to clean the bloodstains on the collar of his shirt.

He nods in response.

I move down to the massive blackened bruise under his left eye – the gears around his grey irises moving and shifting as he looks at me closely.

"Granger – "

" _Don't_  – please, not right now," I interrupt before he can say something else.

I look down to the washcloth in my hand before I hear him take a sharp breath. I remain still – standing there, holding the wet fabric in my hands, and looking down at our feet; while he remains still – sitting there, gritting his teeth in pain whenever he takes a breath and waiting.

Neither of us can say anything – not trusting the words to come out right. We let the quiet linger, and the party outside the bathroom still going like nothing happened. Like nothing went terribly wrong. But we both know that something did go horribly wrong –

After a moment, I throw the washcloth back into the sink next to him before I lean against the cubicle and I look up at him with so much control and anger and guilt.

I demand, "Why? Tell me – no,  _make_  me understand what happened out there. Because I'm finding it so hard to – to – even know what the hell – what happened, Draco…"

I can hear my voice cracking with emotion – a combination of desperation and shame and anger and a lot of other things that I can't even name.

He looks down and grips the edge of his seat. Even his knuckles are bruised after trying to return the punches he received from Ron, and I want to touch them – but I… I can't.

Not now.

"Did you hear what he said – about us?" Draco asks – not even looking up.

"Of course I did – I was there!" I bark and draw in a deep breath as I try to desperately calm myself.

Exhaling loudly, I try to hold back the tears brimming on the edge of my eyes. Rage boils through my skin like an overheated kettle and begging to explode – and I'm losing control.

I continue, "I'm angry at him, yes – he had  _absolutely no right_  to say those things to either of us – but you  _threw_  the first punch!"

Draco finally glances up – eyes glaring and shooting daggers at me – before he snaps back: "And what? I  _should_  just let that tosser call you names?! Even Potter was shouting at him – "

"Of course not!" I shout in reply, and I can feel my chest heaving in something – be it pain, grief, annoyance, or whatever. "But – you shouldn't have started it. You hit him – and… that's what frustrates me the most because you should've known better – "

He snorts at that. A sarcastic smirk tweaks on the corner of his lips before averting his gaze from mine.

"Well – I'm damn sorry for  _not knowing any better_. I guess trying to defend your honour means so very little to you," Draco snarls and shakes his head.

He leaps from his seat and immediately turns toward the door. My heart quickly drops to my stomach -

I follow him and jerk him back by his elbow. "Stop –  _just stop_!" I frown - my tears finally falling. I sniffle. "Of course I appreciate it, Draco, honestly! But – you can't always fight my battles for me. That… that was between me and him – you weren't part of it, you were just dragged in as much as Harry was – "

"Hermione," Draco says and turns to me. His grey eyes seem softer than how he looked at me earlier, and I wait for him to say something. "He called you a  _whore_  and  _a_   _dirty little mudblood_  – even if the latter was directed to me. How can you even expect me to just stand there and act like he didn't say anything? To  _do nothing_?"

I open my mouth. Nothing.  _What on earth am I going to say?_

It would be foolish to deny that what Ron said ten minutes ago didn't hurt – of course, it hurt. I can feel a set of knives currently plunged right into my chest and sunken deep into my heart and lungs while everything he said comes back to me like a harsh downpour.

In the span of five minutes, Ron managed to say things he'd never said to me before, things that I never even imagined of being called –  _by him_ , no less. I hear his voice in the back of my head, echoing like a distant yell – a slur of name-calling and curses and angry shouting – and I can't help but release shaky sobs.

"Why – why would – he say that?" I cry and bury my face in my hands.

Salty tears stream down my cheeks as I continue to sob hysterically. My knees buckle, threatening to fall and break and crumble. My shoulders shake, and I feel rough hands touch them gently.

"I-I-I can't b-believe he said that. Was I wrong? Did I make a mistake by ending it – "

"Granger, stop – "

" – should have I waited for him? Did I… I don't know, Draco – this is messed-up," I crack into more sobs and the walls surrounding us seem to spin and tighten and close in. My breaths began to quicken – both shallow and rapid and short.

I remember everything – every second, every word, and every moment. I remember – Ron accusing and demanding to know why I came with Draco to the party; Draco clenching his fists as he tried his best to be calm and reasonable; Harry pushing back Ron when he started moving toward me; Ginny scolding her brother for having the nerve; Ron shouting and pushing as Harry tried to barricade himself between us; Draco throwing the first punch; Ron straddling Draco and punching as hard as he can –  _how could I let this happen? This is all my fault._

"Granger – will you  _please_  stop thinking before you give yourself an ulcer?"

The tear tracks on my face begin to dry, and my lips quiver, unaware of what to say.

"Don't say anything. Just listen – for once in your life," he exclaims.

I nod, completely not trusting my mouth to say the word without choking.

His eyes stare down into mine. "Remember what I said? That nobody would blame you if you ended it? No one does. Not Potter, not his redhead girlfriend, not anyone – "

I interrupt, "Ron does – "

"Well of course he does – but we can't really expect him to comprehend the situation, having so few functioning brain cells left in his airheaded skull, can we?"

I glare at him. He raises an eyebrow –  _really?_

As he continues, "Look – I can't make you feel better because, in this friendship, that's your job. However – please tell me that my face did not take a beating for you to simply sink back in self-pity. That is so  _not_  you, Granger – "

" – but the things he said… he told me t-that I'm too much. Too complicated… And maybe I am! I-I tried so hard to… make us work and fix us and keep us together – what if it was my fault, Draco? What if… if I asked too much? If I forced him to – " My eyes set to look at his, brimming with more tears.

"Stop. Just stop," Draco snaps - shaking his head. My mouth hangs open, and my heart climbs up from my chest and rests on top of my throat. "First of all –  _nobody forced anybody to do anything_ , all right? If he wanted to end it, he easily could've – but he never said anything, did he?"

I try to say something – but he sends me a warning looking.

Continuing, he says: "Secondly – of course, you bloody  _are_! Anyone who knows you very well can attest to your complications but… that is not –  _never_  – a reason to take someone for granted. He could've told you, but he did the most cowardly thing by running away from you."

His chest rose and fell rapidly while he pauses – eyes wide and staring, and I find myself drowning in them – before he says calmly, "Weasley is an idiot – granted, the biggest idiot ever. And if he couldn't accept your complications, then he doesn't deserve to love you for them."

A sigh leaves my lips. The weight of my chest sinks lower to my stomach. How did it all come to this? How did everything fall apart so fast before I can even begin to fix it?

"Come on – Potter is probably sending out a search party for us already," Draco says – reminding me of the party outside the bathroom. His hands slide down to my exposed arms, sending shivers up my spine as he did.

He takes a step toward the door but, without thinking, I hold his hand firmly and stop him. He looks back at me in question.

"I'm sorry," I mutter and dragging my eyes down to avoid his look.

Silence befalls us.

Draco smirks and curls his lips. "Well – of course, I didn't do this for free." I glare at him – but my own mouth uncontrollably contorts into a tiny smile. He looks down, clearing his throat, and says: "I… I, um – look, don't think that I did this because I wanted to. I did this… because you're worth it. And if… if someone told me ten years ago that I'd, at the very least, be friends with you, I'd have them committed to St Mungo's – but I'm… I'm glad we're – um – friends… and you'd have done the same for me if someone calls me a Death Eater – "

"Because you are not – "

"And you, too, are not," Draco stresses – his words drilling and hammering, making a hard point. "You're  _not_  anything Weasley called you – and if I knew you correctly, you also aren't someone who easily accepts this kind of accusations. Now if we've finally established that Weasley is the biggest moron on earth, I think it's time for us to return, don't you?"

Starting to walk again, I stop him. He turns to me with an annoyed look – but I press my lips together, assembling the right words to say.

"Thank you, Draco, for everything."

I watch as his mouth tweaks into an amused smile despite the cut on his lower lip. His face bruised and covered in purplish spots. He nods and looks away before taking a short glance back at me. "You're very much welcome, Granger," he says before walking out of the bathroom.


End file.
